Pleasure in Silence
by OriginalAlcy
Summary: They're under the same roof at last, but Patsy struggles to come to terms with the reality of Delia living in Nonnatus House. A few snippets set just after 503. One-shot.


**A/N** : This isn't at all what I'm supposed to be working on at the moment, but Patsy and Delia have been on my mind a lot lately. I just wanted to capture a little of them on (electronic) paper. A warning for eventual Pupcake friskiness.

* * *

 ** _Pleasure in Silence_**

"Oh, Patsy, shush! I won't hear of leaving you alone in the dark!" Barbara protested vehemently.

"Nonsense. I've done it often enough before and there's no reason why two of us need to be dawdling when your bike is perfectly serviceable," Patsy replied promptly, staring at the other nurse with a self-imposed air of martyrdom. She watched with exasperation rather than sympathy as Barbara almost tottered over in an effort to pedal at walking pace. "Seriously, Barbara, if I have to watch you almost fall over once more, I'm going to push you myself just to be done with it."

"Well, if you're going to put it like that-"

"I am," Patsy said uncharitably, pleased to have finally managed to get a rise out of her colleague. "Now off with you." She managed to stop short of saying 'And think of me when you're wrapped up warm in bed' - even though Barbara wouldn't have thought of the innuendo that immediately popped into Patsy's mind. "I won't be more than fifteen minutes behind you."

With one last sympathetic look over her shoulder, Barbara accelerated slowly down the road. Patsy kept up a brave front, pushing assiduously until she could no longer see the other midwife. It was only then that she stopped and allowed herself the first of what promised to be a long line of yawns. Her frustration bubbled over with a petulant kick aimed squarely at the offender - a flat tyre.

 _Of all the bloody nuisances…_ Patsy glared at the limp tyre with an emotion akin to loathing - her bike reduced to a useless lump of metal. Fred would see it right soon enough, but that thought was little consolation to her aching feet as she resumed pushing her bike over the cobbles.

As if standing for over eight hours straight wasn't enough already, being forced to push her bike the length of the Dock Road was more than enough to test even the most resolute of individuals. Patsy felt a small amount of regret at sending Barbara on her way, and more than a little remorse over the manner in which she had done it. Still, her friend's perpetually vibrant chatter had grated on her frazzled nerves, hinting at the very real potential of a violent outburst. Patsy had no desire to reward Barbara's kindness in such a manner.

Well over fifteen minutes later (lighting a cigarette had slowed her down considerably), Patsy gratefully parted company with her bike and hastened inside.

The lights never entirely went out at Nonnatus. They couldn't. Midwifery was a fickle profession. Babies had absolutely no respect for decent hours. However tonight the hall was silent. A far cry from daylight hours when footsteps would be heard dashing up and down stairs, or gentle voices raised in song or prayer.

It was an effort for Patsy to keep her footsteps light - sore feet didn't much care for courtesy - as she made her way into the kitchen. She was brought up short as she found someone else out of bed at the late hour. A pyjama-clad figure, slumped forward in one of the chairs, face pillowed on her forearms, dark hair unbound. Out of bed yes, but most definitely not awake.

With a half-formed smile on her face, Patsy set her bag down. There was a half-empty cup of tea near Delia's elbow. A pot and another cup suggested that she had been expecting company. Patsy lost herself for a few moments just staring at Delia's face - eye lashes resting on rosy cheeks, lips parted slightly. This was before she realised that the Welshwoman couldn't have been at all comfortable with her back so hunched over. She reached out, pressing a hand to Delia's shoulder.

"Deels?"

The soft question was accompanied by a gentle squeeze. The touch was more than enough to wake Delia. In fact, Delia woke with such a start that her elbow jerked out and hit the tea cup, sending it clattering across the table. A few seconds later she was still blinking sleepily as Patsy placed the cup back on the table, somehow having managed to catch it before it could fall to the floor.

"Oh," Delia murmured as she watched the slow spread of cold tea. Her eyes widened as sleep suddenly fled. "Oh!"

"Stay there," Patsy ordered. "I'll see to it."

Much of Patsy's earlier fatigue had disappeared. Apparently being exhausted didn't extend to wiping up spilled tea, especially if it meant a few moments alone with Delia. She smiled indulgently as Delia winced a little when she sat up straight.

"What on earth possessed you to sleep at the kitchen table?" Patsy scolded as she soaked up the tea.

"It's not as though I set out to sleep here!" Delia protested quietly. "I thought you'd be home in time for a late supper."

"You know as well as I do that babies take as long as they take," Patsy replied, managing to dredge up a bit of sympathy for someone other than herself as she helped Delia to her feet. Her breath caught in her throat as their bodies pressed together. Despite warning bells sounding in her head, Patsy made no move to draw away. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

Delia grinned. "So my aching back and cold feet haven't been for nothing then?"

"No, they haven't." It wasn't nothing at all. In fact, the sight of Delia had almost driven away all thoughts of the flat tyre and her dreadful walk home. "But you need to go to bed."

"Is that your professional opinion, Nurse Mount?"

The deliberate tone of flirtation in Delia's voice wasn't lost on Patsy. In fact, it cut straight through to her heart, sending it into a flurry of palpitations that drove any shred of common sense out of her tired brain.

"Mhmm," Patsy murmured. She eagerly snaked her hands around Delia's back, feeling a slight thrill as the flannel rucked up slightly and her fingertips brushed against bare skin. It was difficult to resist taking things a step further as Patsy ducked down to kiss the side of her lover's neck - just briefly.

"How long has it been?" Delia whispered with a sigh.

"Too long." Patsy felt the answer in every fibre of her being.

The sudden sound of footsteps drove them apart at lightning speed. Patsy hoped her cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt when Barbara appeared around the corner. The other midwife wore both her pyjamas and a very honest look of relief on her face.

"I tried, but I couldn't fall asleep knowing you were still out there," Barbara admitted with a sheepish smile, apparently thinking nothing out of the ordinary upon finding Delia in the kitchen. "Late shift, Delia?"

Delia glanced briefly towards Patsy, a smile ghosting across her lips. "You might say that.

* * *

While it wasn't something she would have admitted to herself let alone anyone else, Patsy found mealtimes difficult. Even with the horrors of the camps years in the past - buried as deeply as anyone could manage – Patsy's relationship with food would always be complicated. She'd moved on from her boarding school days - saving bread rolls and hiding them under her pillow - but seeing a fully laden table still brought relief and anxiety in equal measures. Not that she would ever let anyone see of course. Outwardly Patsy ate carefully, with apparent relish, savouring flavours, and conversing as any normal person would. However, inwardly the memory of all-consuming hunger and the taste of putrid rice lingered.

"Nurse Mount? Would you kindly pass the potatoes?"

With a nod and a smile, Patsy sent the mashed potatoes in the direction of Sister Mary Cynthia. Her fingertips briefly brushed against Delia's. Patsy's smile broadened. As she listened to the scrape of cutlery against plates and the occasional comment on the excellence of the evening's casserole, Patsy wondered what she had done to deserve such a life. Some would have said it was god's blessing, but Patsy didn't believe in god – not anymore. Hell, however, was very real.

No, it was something else.

Delia suddenly laughed at something Trixie said. Even when purposefully subdued, the Welshwoman's laugh was infectious. It seemed to spread around the table, creating a nervous titter between the two younger nuns, and finally a sigh of contentment from Sister Monica Joan.

"Is there anything more invigorating than the sound of youthful laughter?" the elderly nun declared as she tucked into a slice of Victoria sponge sitting right alongside her potato.

"I should think that silence whilst we eat can be just as satisfying," Sister Julienne replied, although the humour in her eyes said otherwise.

"And not quite as marvellous as not having to sit beside Patsy every mealtime," Trixie said with a distinctly naughty tone. "Being spared from her sharp elbows is no small mercy. Delia you must have the tolerance of a saint."

To tell the truth, Patsy loved it each time their elbows touched. She made a show of tucking her elbows in close for Trixie's benefit, although Delia responded by pushing her own out even further.

"If anything it's poor Patsy who should be nominated for sainthood. You'd all be appalled to see an extended Busby family gathering. Christmases are a bloodbath – all pointy elbows and spilled gravy."

Patsy was laughing alongside everyone else when she felt a deliberate touch down the length of her calf. Delia's stocking-covered toes were feather light against her leg. The delicate motion caused her knife to slip from her fingers, clattering loudly against her plate. The hairs on the back of her neck were still standing as she muttered an apology to the suddenly silent table.

In the nearby chair, Delia steadfastly concentrated on her plate. She wore an expression that suggested butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

* * *

Patsy would never tell Delia to her face that the particular shade of lilac worn by nurses at the London Hospital didn't quite suit her. And it certainly wasn't that she cared what Delia was wearing. As far as Patsy was concerned, Delia could do justice to a burlap sack…or no clothes at all. Still, as she descended the stairs, watching Delia wearily walk in the door whilst removing her coat, Patsy couldn't help but think that the lilac didn't do any justice to Welshwoman's lovely complexion.

It was only then that Patsy realised just how pale and washed out Delia looked. Patsy's presence on the stairs drew Delia's attention. However Delia could manage little more than a tight-lipped smile in response to Patsy's own broad grin.

"Is everything alright?" Patsy asked, descending the stairs at pace.

"Rotten day 'tis all," Delia replied.

She moved past Patsy, barely pausing on her way upstairs, at least until Patsy reached out to take her gently by the upper arm.

"Deels?" Patsy inquired, slightly aggrieved that Delia was in such a hurry to get out of her presence. "Surely a rotten day earns you a hot cup of tea. Come on, I'll make you one."

Delia stubbornly shook her head. "Tea isn't what I want, Pats, and you know it." Her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I just want-" she lowered her voice to a whisper "-you."

Throughout the whole conversation Patsy was mindful of the fact that they were standing in one of the busiest thoroughfares of Nonnatus House. She studied Delia's face and finally noticed the same hurt and frustration that she'd seen in the kitchen a few weeks earlier - just shortly after snatching her arm away from Delia's well-meaning touch.

A tremulous breath escaped Patsy's lips. She'd already admitted to Delia that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Neither of them did.

Seeing each other day in, day out, was both a blessing and a curse.

Patsy reached out to take Delia's hand, squeezing firmly. She hoped that the simple motion conveyed the extent of her love, but she already knew that it fell short in so many ways. The inevitable footsteps drew them apart. The first belonged to Sister Monica Joan, shuffling down the stairs with a firm grip on the bannister. Her piercing eyes regarded both of them with an omniscience brought about by age and just a hint of madness. She beamed broadly before passing by, no doubt to ascertain what cake there would be for supper.

The elderly sister was followed only a few moments later by the far more exuberant footsteps of Trixie.

"Why on earth are the two of you setting up shop in this dark hallway?"

"Delia's had a rotten day," Patsy explained, hoping that she wasn't overstepping her girlfriend's privacy. They were all in the same line of work. Understanding came naturally.

"And this is how you cheer her up, Patsy?" Trixie tactfully shouldered her way in between them, momentarily wrapping Delia in the hug that Patsy wanted to have been able to give. "Come along, there's a glass of Tizer and a Bobby Darin record with your name on it upstairs."

Patsy rolled her eyes. "That's hardly going to cheer her up," she muttered as Trixie swept a bewildered Delia up the stairs.

* * *

"We need rules," Patsy said, keeping her chin resolutely high.

Delia was rarely sullen but as she stared at Patsy, she displayed the very definition of the word on her face. "I don't want bloody rules. If I wanted rules I would've stayed in Wales."

Patsy paused in the act of raising a cigarette to her lips. "Oh, Deels, you don't really mean that do you?"

Delia flopped back onto her bed with a resigned sigh. "No, I don't. That was wicked of me." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I just really hate that word, especially when applied to my private life. All I ever wanted was a little privacy, a place where the only rule is that you had to be yourself. And we were so close…"

Delia left the rest of her sentence unspoken. Neither of them need to be reminded of what was snatched away from under their noses. One night was all they had.

Patsy would forever regret that she hadn't been able to bring herself to have sex on their second-hand bed, for fear of what might lurk in the mattress.

She had made up her mind not to make the same mistake again – freshly laundered sheets or not - but the walls at Nonnatus seemed paper thin, and there were no locks on the doors.

Still, it was better than the alternative – Delia a virtual prisoner in Pembrokeshire, under the hawk-like gaze of Mrs Busby and Patsy left alone in London to rue what might have been. It didn't bear thinking about.

Patsy joined her girlfriend on the bed. Delia scooted to one side and Patsy dared to lie down next to her, the lengths of their bodies pressed comfortably together. Between them, their fingers entwined almost of their own accord.

"I promise you we'll make this work," Patsy said.

"Even if the thought of having sex in a convent is very…very odd?" Delia pointed out quite unhelpfully.

Despite the sincerity of her girlfriend's question, Patsy couldn't resist a quiet giggle and an even more inappropriate thought. "Do you suppose we'll be the first?"

"Patsy!" A laugh erupted from Delia's lips.

"Well?"

Delia rolled over. "Maybe…probably…unless there were two frisky nuns at some point in Nonnatus's history."

"You are perfectly beastly," Patsy replied, sitting up reluctantly. She took a long drag on her cigarette, checking the time as she did. "And I'm on call in fifteen minutes, so unfortunately there will be no friskiness for you, Nurse Busby."

* * *

The constant tossing and turning had been all consuming for the better part of an hour. Despite the chill in the air, Patsy was too hot. The usually comforting warmth of her pyjamas was cloying. When it became too much, she'd push off the covers in frustration, only to succumb to gooseflesh a few minutes later. Trixie's soft breathing usually didn't bother her, but tonight the sound was a hive of bees inside her head - constant and bothersome.

The simple fact was that she couldn't sleep. Insomnia, disquiet, irritation. Whatever one usually called it, it was a consequence as opposed to a catalyst. Patsy opened her eyes, giving up on the pretence of sleep. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering through the curtains, she was dragged even further into wakefulness. She twisted to one side, letting out an irritated huff when she saw the hands of her clock glinting stubbornly at 2am. Patsy finally succumbed and gave name to her torment, having known full well all along the real reason why she couldn't sleep.

Gently easing her body out of bed, Patsy tiptoed past the still sleeping Trixie. The old floorboards creaked slightly, but other nurse was a heavy sleeper. A fact for which Patsy was often grateful give her own propensity towards the occasional outburst in her sleep. It happened less often these days, but enough to feel anxious about sharing a room with someone else.

The dark hallways were blissfully empty, nevertheless Patsy winced with each step, silently berating herself for her foolishness. Yet as soon as she turned the door handle and slipped inside Delia's room, a weight lifted from her shoulders.

If the manner in which she eagerly hopped onto the small bed either startled or woke Delia, there was no indication. Instead there was simply a sigh of contentment as Delia shifted to accommodate the shape of Patsy's body as she tucked in close. Patsy pressed her cheek to the pillow, her nose buried in Delia's hair.

"I wonder if anyone could simply invite themselves into your bed," Patsy remarked in a slightly jealous whisper. "Am I merely a warm body?"

"Hardly," Delia murmured – still sleepy. Patsy could tell from the tone of her voice that she was smiling. "You smell."

An indignant snort emerged from Patsy's nose as she propped herself up on her elbow. She glared down at Delia. Even though the other woman wasn't looking at her, Patsy wanted her to at least _feel_ the force of her glare.

"I do not smell!" she protested.

"You do." Delia said softly. She rolled onto her back, looking up at Patsy. Her eyes danced with merriment in the dim light. One hand reached up to brush Patsy's fringe away from her forehead. "Of Dove soap…and starch when your uniform has been freshly laundered, coffee in the mornings…but mostly you just smell like Patsy."

The corners of Patsy's lips tugged upwards of their own accord, mirroring the expression on Delia's face. Patsy gently traced her girlfriend's smile with the tips of her fingers, feeling the softness of Delia's lips. With a resigned sigh, Patsy finally gave in. She pressed her lips against Delia's, at first just revelling in the simple act of being able to kiss the one she loved.

Everything else fled – all the irritation, fluctuations in temperature – everything except the young woman beneath her. Mindful of every sound they made, Patsy determinedly peeled the covers away. She felt slightly guilty at the thought of stealing away Delia's warm cocoon, but hoped that the replacement was something far nicer – the warmth of her own body.

Even as she gently rolled Delia beneath her, Patsy was aware of fingers tugging impatiently at the buttons on her pyjamas - enough at least for Delia to be able to pull the flannel down over one shoulder.

"Delia," she whispered in warning. "We can't."

"I know, I just…" Delia's voice trailed off reluctantly. "I want to at least see a little of you."

Patsy silenced the regret with another kiss. She hated the fact that they couldn't shrug out of everything they wore, but years of restraint and caution guarded against it. There had been the hotel in Bath – two whole days when they'd barely worn a stitch of clothing except to attend meals and the occasional excursion – but that had been over a year earlier. Getting caught in the same bed might possibly be explained away, however being caught entirely naked left absolutely no excuses.

After all that they had been through since the accident, Patsy was quite content to settle for the simple act of bringing pleasure. She'd missed this dreadfully, missed feeling a thrill as her fingers teased against the bare flesh of Delia's stomach before sliding her hand beneath lower. More than anything, Patsy had missed hearing the hiss of air that escaped Delia's lips when she brushed against the thin layer of cotton that was all that separated her from her goal. Much to her delight, Patsy found the cotton already damp, stoking the corresponding fire between her own legs. Her smile resurfaced and she couldn't stop, even as Delia seized the back of her neck, dragging her down into another, far more desperate kiss.

"Pats…please…" Delia breathed between gasps for air. "If you don't touch me, I'm going to burst."

Patsy couldn't resist, she deliberately withheld her touch, instead raking her nails against the tender skin on the inside of Delia's thighs. "I thought that was the whole point of my touching you?"

It was impossible to draw the teasing out further, not when Patsy was just as eager to give into Delia's needs. She pushed past the thin cotton barrier, clamping her lips against Delia's – pre-empting a possible whimper.

However there was very little noise – virtually nothing save for the heated scraping of limbs against sheets and the sound of Delia breathing behind clenched teeth.

They were both far too good at this game to give away anything to the listening walls. For those minutes and hours, they had the privacy to be themselves, to exhibit the extent of their love.

As long as it was done as silently as possible.


End file.
